Withered Souls
by T. F. Crosby
Summary: Her empire is the strongest it has ever been. His army is the most powerful Cyclonia has ever produced. She is falling apart on the inside. He is the only one that can save her.


A quick note: Kefir is pronounced keh-FEER. It's Hebrew and means "young lion." That has nothing to do with the story (well, maybe a little) but I thought I'd mention it anyway. It's set about five years or so in the future. Cyclonis is nineteen, almost twenty. Kefir is twenty-one. Most of the story is from his point of view. A small part is in third person. The tense changes are deliberate, they're not grammatical errors. I have no idea where this story came from.

**Warnings: **character torture, but not too graphic

**Rating: **T

**Genre: **No clue. If you can figure it out, let me know. Weird, maybe?

**Inspiration: **a couple songs. Not Beautiful by Radial Angel and Alone by Sanctus Real (probably a few others, too)

**For Sonic Writer: **just because and for all our weird banter

* * *

**Withered Souls**

It's a strange devotion really. I'm not sure how it came to pass—_or when_. I am now the one to stand by her side, to protect her. While she can take care of herself I still look after her. Somebody has to. Her chosen champion is gone. I don't know what made him leave, his reasons; but I do know that, no matter what, _I_ will never leave her. After all, I am her new champion. At least, that's what she says. I don't know what she truly thinks of me. She looks at me in a way she never looked at the Dark Ace, or anyone for that matter. She only looks at _me_ like that. It's an odd look and, well...I'm not sure of the meaning behind it. Perhaps, it's a look of fear, fear that I will leave her, leave like he did. Perhaps, it's a look of distrust. I hope it isn't, but I can't blame her. She trusted him with her life and he left, left without a fight, without a word.

Dark Ace left her and Cyclonia over three years ago. He left on a mission and never returned. Initially, she thought he had been killed (he would never have allowed himself to be captured), but rumors spread like wildfire and it was soon known that he was, indeed, alive. However, she knew he would not be returning to her. This became abundantly clear when Ravess, Snipe and a number of other Talons engaged him in battle and didn't return. Those few Talons that did confirmed her belief that her three top commanders had betrayed her. Though I do not know about him, I know Master Cyclonis now knows where many of her subordinates' loyalty truly lied.

He's not the same man Atmos once knew. He hardly resembles his old self; he's almost unrecognizable. They don't call him Dark Ace anymore; he left that name on Cyclonia. He's often referred to as "The Night Hawk" and those times when my squadron and I have engaged him in battle, those around him simply called him Hawk. I wonder about its origins. Does it stem from Night Hawk? Or perhaps a reference to his old squadron? Or even his real name? I can only speculate. I have also heard him called _Roisto_. _Heh. Fitting_. He's neither the hero nor the villain; he's a rogue, an anti-hero. He leads a squadron of pariahs composed of a few ex-patriot Talons, including Ravess and Snipe, even a few ex-Sky Knights and those from broken squadrons. People were once afraid of him, but now...they don't know what to think.

I do speak much of him, but that's because he was once my mentor. Many of those around me say that I am a lot like him. Perhaps, that's one of my master's greatest fears, that I _am_ like him; and that like him, I, too, will leave her. I have told her countless times that I will never leave her, but it seems that my words never reach her. I've asked myself if it is because she is still aggrieved over his departure. As much as I'd like to believe that to be the reason, I have a nagging suspicion that it runs much deeper than that.

Such thoughts remind me of an incident from a few months ago. It had been over a year since my last encounter with the former Dark Ace. He had changed even more since our previous engagement. It is neither him nor the confrontation that stands out in my mind, but what she had said to me upon my return. She summoned me to her chambers (something that had become commonplace in the past year). I entered her chambers to see her looking out the window. I bowed on one knee, as always.

"Rise." As I stood she continued, soberly, "Did you see him?"

"Yes," I replied, "I did."

"What does he look like now?"

That was not a question I was expecting. I was hoping she would realize the awkwardness that question presented for me.

"Well, he's, uh..." I stammered. This is exactly how any commander of a powerful army should respond. I patted myself on the back for that well-spoken reply.

Sensing my inner turmoil over answering the question she said, "Does he look any different since..." She trailed off, still feeling so much pain, even after three years.

"Not so much physically. His hair's a bit shaggy and he's sporting a mustache and goatee. He does look a little thinner, though."

"Really?" she said softly, turning around. Her expression was one of indifference, but I knew better. "Anything else?"

"He doesn't wear that headpiece anymore and he doesn't carry that sword anymore, either."

"Is that so? Do you know why?"

"I can't be certain, but there are rumors that say he gave the sword to the Sky Knight of the Storm Hawks."

She didn't respond with words to my answer, she simply looked down at the floor. "Is Ravess still with him?"

"Yes, she is. And she hasn't changed much, either. At least not physically."

"And Snipe?"

"The same."

"So, they are all doing well then?" Her voice was strained and she was on the verge of tears.

"They seem to be. Apparently, they are getting along fairly well with the Storm Hawks and other Sky Knights. It seems he has even filled the rift between rogue and Sky Knight."

She nodded and turned away, but not before I saw a tear trickle down her right cheek.

She would never admit it, but I know she feels abandoned. Not just by him; but by all of them, all who left, though mostly her three commanders. She trusted them with her life, especially the Dark Ace; otherwise they would not have remained in the positions they were in when she came to power.

I wanted to go up to her and hold her, tell her that I was here for her. Fearing her reaction, I did nothing. Now that I look back on it, I wish I had stepped above my fears and put my arms around her. It would have been good for both of us. Maybe then she would have realized how I truly felt about her. Maybe then I would have had the courage to tell her that I love her. The whole thought of it makes me laugh, the actual thought of telling her. Not too long ago I asked her if she believed true love exists. She replied with a small indifferent laugh. I don't think she wants to answer, like so many questions I ask her. She'll give me a quick glance and then turn away. She tries to hide her feelings from me, but the only thing she's been able to keep hidden is how she truly feels about me. But then, she may not know herself. I can only hope that I will amass enough courage to tell her how I feel; but until then, I will continue to serve as her champion, doing what is necessary to protect her.

"Kefir!"

She's calling for me again. There's disquietude in her voice. Her calling of my name is less of a demand for my presence and more of a want to know where I am. She's been anxiety-ridden since he left, though I am the only one who notices. She appears a strong and accomplished young woman and leader to her subordinates and to all of Cyclonia and Atmos, which she, with not hint of uncertainty, is. But if they only knew her like I do. Strong and accomplished she may be, but I see an even deeper truth. To me, she appears a frightened girl, searching for comfort and love; something that I can give her; something that she refuses to allow herself to have. She's still hurting and the hurt has caused her to create a shell around herself, a prison deep within her soul. I must find a way to break that shell apart and free her from that prison. There is far more to her than she has ever allowed others to see.

"Yes, Master," I say, kneeling before her. "You summoned me?"

"Where have you been?" she queries, her back turned to me. "I called for you over an hour ago."

"I am sorry, Your Highness. I was in my quarters freshening up."

She sighs. This isn't the first time she has inquired of my whereabouts. It began shortly after she named me Commander of the Talons and her new Champion. I didn't understand her distress over my being out of her sight or audible contact for too long (what she deems as too long) at first; but as time wore on and I began encountering the Dark—Night Hawk (she hates the name Dark Ace) in battle, I slowly began to understand her disquietude over my "unexcused" absences.

She'd constantly ask what he looked like and how he was doing. She would inquire about the others, but mostly him. Her feelings of abandonment soon became very clear to me. His leaving was wounding enough; but the others, too, had to leave. She had been taught from a young age to trust him with every fiber of her being and here she was betrayed by the very hands she had placed her life into. It was a wonder she didn't hate him. In all honestly, I don't think she's capable of doing so. Through all this, I hope she can find me worthy of her trust.

"May I ask you something?" I say, standing with the toes of my boots touching the base of the bottom step.

"Yes," she answers, staring at me with sorrow-filled eyes; eyes that only I have seen.

"Do you trust me?" This is not the first time I have asked that question. She looks at me quietly for a moment.

"Of course, I trust you," she answers sternly, turning away.

_Then why do you turn away from me when you say you do?_

"Do you trust that I won't ever Leave you?"

She freezes as those words reach her ears. This is nothing new. She doesn't answer as always. Sometimes I wonder if what I do is worth the effort; then I hear a small voice telling me to press on, to not give up on her.

I sigh, knowing that, once again, my question will go unanswered. "Is there anything else you wish of me, Master?"

There's a whisper from her lips. _"Please don't call me that."_

I am unsure if those words are meant for my ears. I barely heard it, so I give her no reply.

"No," she says in a more audible voice. "You may go."

I bow. "I'll be in my quarters if you need me."

I mentally kick myself as I walk down the corridor towards my quarters. I've forgone yet another chance to tell her. I must tell her; I can't keep pushing it away.

* * *

The past month has been rather interesting on a personal level. It has been filled with the unexpected. The only moments I have not been by her side, or she by mine, have been for bathing and sleeping. Even in my training hours she is not far away from me. Then there are the looks she has been giving me when no one else is around. _Does she truly fear that I will leave? _I don't want to hurt her; she's been hurt enough. If others were to see what I see, they would think her weak and incapable of ruling an empire, I will say from the depths of my soul, she is more than capable of ruling this vast empire with great proficiency and she is very strong in both mind and body; but she is still human, mortal. And we mortals are not perfect. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. We try to live by our strengths and, if we allow them to, our weaknesses can strengthen us even more; but there are times when our weaknesses can become so overpowering, even the strongest will fall to his knees. I cannot allow my weaknesses to overtake me. I must stay strong and not waver, especially when I'm near her. With all that's been going on lately, I cannot relinquish my self-control for a second.

She had been seeking me in my quarters night after night. At first, I was utterly clueless as to why she was coming to me as she was. After a few nights it finally donned on me what her intentions were. She was making advances towards me, very subtle; but they were there. They were obvious only to me. Anyone who may have seen us would brush it of as harmless conversation. But this wasn't her. I knew this wasn't what she wanted to do. There was something more to all of it and I knew in my heart what it was. I had to tell her. It couldn't wait any longer. So, the last night she came to me...

"Why do you resist me?" she said.

"I resist you because I love you." I blurted out. I must admit, now that I look back on it, it was an odd statement.

"You resist me because you love me?"

_Very odd._

"I will _not_ take advantage of you. This is not about desires of the flesh."

_Do I desire her?_ Yes. _Lustfully?_ Perhaps, in a small way. Yes, I do desire to hold her, to make love to her; but to ravage her for my own fleshly desires...No! Such carnality I will leave to heathens consumed by their fleshly pleasures. Desires of the flesh last for mere moments, quickly forgotten; cast aside for more bodily desire that will fade into oblivion, never to be remembered. At the same time such desires can be left to fester like an open sore, uncaring and bound to that which is ephemeral. No, that is not my desire. I desire that which is eternal. I desire to know her, to share with her, her spirit, her soul and to share with her mine.

"Do not degrade yourself. This is not who you are," I continued more forcefully. She turned away, looking out the window of my quarters. "I know your greatest fear. Don't think I've been blind to you these past three and a half years."

"If you're so certain that you know what my greatest fear is then tell me."

Sighing heavily, I walked up to her and put my arms around her. I brought my lips next to her left ear. Staring at our reflections in the window I said, sternly but caringly, "I will never leave you, not of my own free will. They would have to kill me to pull me away from you."

I expected her to pull away from me. Instead, she remained still, saying, "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

There was timidity in her voice, timidity that ripped at my heart.

"I have never lied to you," I replied, my lips still at her ear, "and you know full well that I could have left at any time."

"Then why didn't you? Is there something stopping you?" she asked softly.

"There is one thing."

"And what might that be?"

"I love you. I'm in love with you."

She pulled away from me, scoffing in mock amusement at my answer. I knew she was finding it hard to believe me.

"Is that so?" She turned to look me in the eyes. "What makes you think I love you in return?"

Her response was cold. However, it was what I expected. I couldn't blame her for such coldness.

"I never said anything about that," I replied, trying to make eye-contact with her. "I can't _make_ you love me, anyway." She looked a little stunned at my response. "But regardless of how you feel about me, my love for you will never change."

She quickly turned away from me once again, speaking not. I suppose I should be used to it, but it is a bit deflating when she does so. Those are the moments I hate most. I can't see her face and she won't speak. I do not dare guess what she is thinking. I can only stand there and hope she will turn around and face me again. This time she wouldn't do so. She continued to keep her back to me.

"What if I decided to have you tortured?"

Such riposte would cause many a loyalist to recant his adjuration, but I've been at her side long enough to know better. I knew exactly what she was doing; she was trying to drive me away. Well, testing me, anyway. She wanted to see how far she could push me, to know for certain if I meant what I said or if I was just blowing smoke.

I didn't hesitate in answering. "There's nothing that you, or anyone, can say or do that will make me leave or stop loving you." She mumbled something under her breath and began walking towards the door. As she reached the door I asked, "What's your greatest desire?"

She stopped and turned around. She didn't respond with words, but merely stared at me. I suppose the question shocked her. She lingered for a few moments and then walked out.

That was two nights ago. I haven't seen much of her since then. I know why she's been avoiding me. With what's about to happen she doesn't want to face me. I am in no way upset at her for slighting me, not at all. I was expecting this. She wants to know if I truly meant what I had said to her. I wish there was another way; but if this truly is the only way, then so be it. I can hear their footsteps echoing through the corridor. _It's time_.

* * *

He was brought before her, shirtless and barefoot, in her throne room. He remained silent, putting up no fight; he knew very well what was coming. She sat silently on her throne, expressionless. There was a small number of Talons scattered about the room, there as witnesses. It was clear to Kefir that none of them wanted to be there. The three men that had brought him before her looked at her, waiting. After a few moments she gave them the nod to begin. They moved him to the center of the room where he remained unbound. He would only be held by the two men on either side of him; they knew he wouldn't fight back. He looked at each of them and then at the man standing before him; a man who was his closest and oldest friend, a man he called brother. None of them wanted to do this; he could see it in their eyes; but they had to. They were ordered to do so and they knew that Kefir, their commander, would not let them back down; even if they had a choice.

Kefir stared forward, watching another Talon walk towards him, a red-hot iron rod in her hands. The woman handed the rod to the Talon standing before the young commander. Kefir felt his muscles tense at the sight of the rod. The two men locked eyes.

"Aidan..." Kefir breathed.

"I'm sorry," the man replied sotto voce. "I wish there—"

"There is no other way."

He brought the rod back slightly and with a short, quick motion, struck Kefir on the stomach, searing his flesh. Kefir's body jerked, a low, breathy grunt escaping his lips. Cyclonis gripped the arms of her throne tightly as her champion was struck for a second and third time. Though the pain was intense and his body jerked violently, only low, breathy grunts were heard. She wanted to look away; but she couldn't show any weakness in front of her subordinates, although many of them were looking away themselves. And none would call her weak if she put a stop to it.

With the rod cooling quickly, the torture turned from the searing of flesh to beating. The sound of cracking bones echoed through the room. Cyclonis' body twitched at the sound, yet she remained stone-faced. Kefir gasped sharply with every strike, but still refused to yield to the pain. Without a plea from his friend or an order to desist from his master, Aidan was forced to continue.

Reaching for the whip at his side, he turned to Cyclonis with grievous eyes. She didn't move. He turned back to Kefir as he slowly removed the whip form his belt. He let out a sorrowful sigh as the blacksnake rolled out in front of him. With a shaky hand, Aidan pulled the whip back. Then, with a quick forward thrust, the whip came down on Kefir's back, splitting the skin open. Another strike came down on his back, whipping around, hitting him in the face and splitting the skin open on his forehead; but he held his ground, emitting little sound. A few more strikes came down on him, again whipping around and hitting his face in the same place as before, splitting the wound further open, before his knees finally buckled underneath him, causing him to fall upon them. He let out a few strained puffs of air as his friend and torturer turned back to their master. She seemed distressed, but she made no motion to stop it.

Now on his knees, Kefir turned his head and stared at his master, and love, with pain-filled eyes as the whip came cracking down on his back again. He could stop the thrashing himself. All he had to do was cry out; but he wanted her to stop the beating, to give the order to end the torture. If enduring such scourging would prove his loyalty to her then he would allow himself to be beaten to death. Not that he had any desire to die, not like this; but it appeared to be the only way. As badly as he wanted to scream, only the low, breathy grunts were allowed to reach her ears.

She stared back at him. Her facial expression should no regard for him, but her eyes betrayed her. She wanted it stopped but no words would come. His face was bloodied by the laceration on his forehead. The flesh of his chest and torso was still burning from being seared by the iron rod; pieces of bone from ribs broken by the same rod now punctured his lungs, causing him to cough up blood. _And now the whip_. His back was so bloody she could no longer tell where whip met flesh. And through all the torture, the incredible pain, he never cried out, never begged her to stop the beating. He never begged her for mercy. _Did he really mean what he had said?_

He lurched forward on the thirtieth strike. He wasn't sure how much longer his body could hold out. His vision was blurring; he knew he was going to pass out any time now. Letting his eyes close, he swore he heard her scream as he collapsed to the floor.

"Stop! Enough!" she cried. "No more..."

Aidan and the two men that had been holding onto Kefir backed off as she ran down the steps to his side, tears streaming down her cheeks. She knelt down beside him, pulling him into her arms. Blood seeped into his golden hair, turning it a dark crimson. She pulled him closer so that his head was resting on her chest. She rested her face on his, sobbing. It was in that moment she finally perceived that which had been seeking her for so long. _She loved him._

* * *

She ran her hand through his golden hair. He had been asleep for most of the past three days following the surgery to remove the pieces of bone from his lungs. His waking hours were few and though she had barely left his side, she was never in the room for those moments. She had been told that he would make a full recovery; but still, she was concerned. She blamed herself for all of it. If she had only believed him in the first place none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have been nearly beaten to death and he wouldn't be lying in that hospital bed. She leaned over, giving him a gentle kiss on the lips as tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

His eyes fluttered open as a single teardrop fell onto his cheek. He smiled as his golden-amber eyes met her violet ones.

"What are you crying for?" he said, wiping her tears with his thumb. She smiled back at him, holding his hand to her face. "Still won't answer my questions, huh?"

"I'm just happy you're okay," she said softly.

"Like I told you..."

"I know." She leaned over once again, him pulling gently on her chin, their lips meeting for a more intimate kiss. "I love you."

"And I love you." He gave her a cock-eyed grin.

She could see the wheels turning in his head. He was up to something. "Alright. What are you thinking?"

His grin grew wider as she glared in return. "I just have one more question for you. And you have to promise you'll give me an answer."

She smirked. "Okay."

Her eyes darted around the room. "Lark..."

"Okay, I promise. So, what is it?" He grinned maniacally, holding tightly to her hand. "Kefir..."

* * *

Nearly two years have passed and our lives have changed dramatically. It's amazing what true love can do to a person. When you finally realize you're not alone in the world life becomes worth living. You realize you do serve a purpose greater than the one you had set for yourself. Anyone can experience such love, but only if they allow themselves to. That love can change a person. Unfortunately, there are those who will refuse to accept that that person has changed, especially when that person had been among humanity's worst. But there are those who will accept that person with open arms. I can only pray that Lark and I will find those people, for the sake of our children. We knew when we married and decided to start a family that we could not raise our children here, not when it's like this.

We both know that this has to be stopped. Changing our ways may have been simple for us, but convincing the others may not be so easy. Not to mention convincing the rest of Atmos that we have made such a transformation that they should welcome us.

There are some we can seek out for amnesty. And hopefully, they can convince the others that we are deserving of a second chance.

_**fin**_

Like I said, it's weird. But it begged to be written. Quite unlike anything I've written so far. I'm planning on writing a companion piece that deals with the Dark Ace and what's been going on with him.

Hope you enjoyed it.

* * *


End file.
